Mindless
by B. A. Ware
Summary: Azkaban!Creature!Harry. Based on something Sirius told us about, and another thing that we don't pay any thought any more. Genres were picked by the readers.
1. Chapter 1

I'm too beastly to be mistaken with someone like J. K. Rowling, who by the way owns Harry Potter.

* * *

It should have been expected. Someone like Cornelius Fudge just couldn't play fair. And I'm not talking about changing place of the hearing at the last moment.

When Harry Potter stepped into court room ten, he didn't understand why the full body was present for a simple case of under-age magic. It soon became clear, when charges were read. It appear that Minister wanted to make sure Harry was tried for something, and brought forth not only last case, but everything he could come up with.

Beside the encounter with dementor, there were charges regarding everything, from every bit of magic he did in his aunts home taken into question, through affairs with heirs of pure-blood families like Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, to some as ridiculous as that he should be charged for causing disturbances at Halloween 1981, when he survived a killing curse and wizards were openly celebrating.

Anyone could see that it was a trumped list. But it was made to ensure that something, as little as it was, would stick. Everything else made a background, making everything look worse than it was.

Dumbledore who came in when they were halfway through the list, and obviously appointed himself Harry's lawyer, voiced objection at how the hearing was proceeding. It was stated as a hearing regarding Harry Potter, right after he was sent an warning of under-age magic use. Now seeing that it was regarding multitude of different topics, Dumbledore pleaded for time too prepare, and to make sure that every available evidence was gathered.

That didn't end the way he intended.

With accusation of disrespecting a noble family, pure-bloods on the court used multitude of charges as an excuse that Harry Potter should be placed in a holding cell until proven not guilty. Bad luck didn't stop at that, and after some excuses regarding cells being renovated because of a flood that happened some time before, Harry was sent to Azkaban of all places.

Even thou he was placed in a low security ward, it was once again clearly stated that dementors didn't respect boundaries or orders when it came to their need to feed. Even in this part of the island so far away from high security part of the island, some of them would come to feed, if there were insufficient amount of inmates, due to no new arrivals, deaths, or just that some lost their minds, not even comprehending what fear was.

Because that was what they feed on. Fear. They weren't sucking all the happiness from you, leaving you with only bitter memories. They made you relive your worst nightmares, and lavished in the dread emanating from you. Given appearance of a dementor, it was "You are what you eat" kind of thing. One of the reasons why dementors kiss was used as an execution, was because it was believed that after soul was sucked out of your body, it was trapped in world of nightmares, meant to spent infinite time in continuous torment. Your private hell, to say it short.

But at first it wasn't that bad for Harry. Yes, having to repeat moments when his parents were killed wasn't a time of his lifetime, but after a while, you knew dementor was coming, you anticipated it, you could prepare. It also was also a little better when he concentrated on remembering his parents, mostly their voice, and forgot circumstances in which it happened. That in itself lessened the horror of the experience, that thought that he had a connection with his parents, and it stopped being his worst nightmare. What came next, was much worse.

What he saw next was bizarre mix of every wrong thing that happened near him. The horrifying thing about is, that he blamed himself for it. He haven't noticed that Ginny was acting strange, so it was his fault that she nearly died. He should have done something earlier. Sirius was still on the run because he kept him from killing Petigrew. Remus lost his job because of that night too... On and on, every thing that he remembered, the blame was always his.

One would say that it was good that dementors only stayed a short while to feed, before returning to their proper place. But in truth, the most damage was done when he was alone. In that time between dementor-driven guilt-trips, he kept pondering what he just saw. His mind torn between what he just experienced, and simple idea that he couldn't be responsible for everything. That war that he was fighting against what he felt to be true, convincing himself, and replaying known facts. That was what did most damage to him.

Trying to think if, and how much guilt, he had in each case, he kept taking events apart, like one would take frames out of the movie, and he kept asking himself "Is this my fault?" or "Is this somehow connected with me?". That didn't help, as with next visit of a dementor his nightmares would only twist and bend more and more, showing his involvement in a whole new way.

But he just couldn't stop. He just couldn't stand that unanswered question "Is this really all because of me?". He kept taking apart memory after memory, event after event, to the point where he couldn't remember what really happened, and what was simply one of many possibilities that he came out with. But it didn't stop at that. With those blank spots in his memory, dementors fed on his uncertainty, and showed everyday occurrences in very disturbing way. Like every whisper at school was spiteful. Like everyone was mean, just acted civil when he approached them, hiding what they really thought of him.

And it just started again. "Is it true?" he kept asking himself. "Is it all true?" he thought as he again tore his memories apart, clawing through everything he knew to find an answer. He kept doing that to his mind, not really knowing what he was doing any more.

'Oh, yeah. Sirius was right that dementors aren't as scary to mindless creatures.' he noticed when it was too late. And it was last thought Harry Potter concieved before his conciousness was plunged into darkness.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore with his many years of experience in bureaucracy, still didn't comprehend why it made thing so much difficult, when it was meant to keep order and make things so much easier to accomplish. Proving Harry's innocence in every case from the list of charges that Wizengamot came with wasn't difficult. Just immensely time consuming. Whenever he made attempt to clarify some things, they contradicted him as much as they could, then simply stated that it was in fact very clear that charge couldn't be true, and as such, needed new set of paperwork to be filled, and lots of time to make it done.

Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, seemed to be pleased that Harry spent time in Azkaban. Clearly it didn't matter why that was, as long as he stayed there. In fact it was partly true, because everyone remembered that someone was sentenced for time there, while not necessarily knowing what he spent time for.

But after nearly two months of information gathering, paperwork filling and arguments, it was clear that Harry Potter wasn't guilty of any punishable crimes, and any minor offences could easily dismissed.

That's why, on insistence of Albus Dumbledor, there was a guard walking through Azkaban prison in the middle of the night, to retrieve Harry Potter. He was to be transferred and under healers supervision as soon as possible, so he could recover for his next year at Hogwarts which was to begin in only couple days time.

Given the late hour, and natural gloom of Azkaban, the guard on duty wasn't surprised by the darkness filling every place in the prison. Cells were no exception, and because of that, after opening the door to Harry's cell, he saw nothing more than pair of gleaming eyes staring from the darkness.

'Wait. Gleaming...' but no sooner he begun this trail of thoughts, he was slammed against the wall by the shadow that leapt from the cell.

Lying half concious on the floor, he watched how the figure seemed to jump between spots of moonlight as the person was getting further away from him. When he caught to what that meant, he immediately cast a quick spell, notifying wards about escape attempt. Torches everywhere lit up, back up was sent his way, and lock down of the prison commenced.

Regaining his footing and shaking his head to clear hid mind from dizziness that still lingered, he watched as the man still kept running away from him, and he just couldn't understand why he was running straight to the arms of a dementor.

In fact, the man didn't stop and crumble under the pressure of dementor this close. Instead, he swung his arms at the demon and tore him apart, leaping straight through the rain of tattered robes. Dementor reformed itself moments later, only to pursue him further.

The man kept sprinting through the prison, bashing his way through more guards, not noticing if they were man or dementor, and not caring how many of them there was. His only care was to get out, and as far away as he could.

He was caught only when guards collapsed an entire section of celling on top of him.

* * *

This year of Hogwart started more or less like any other. There was a train ride, Sorting Ceremony, feast, and a big gossip. The most different thing, was the gossip. School was just barely standing with all the news of Harry's time in Azkaban, and the fact that he was kept in the Hospital wing even when the year haven't even started.

Draco Malfoy just couldn't let this occasion to pass. That was why he made his way into the infirmary, disregarding signs of "knock in case of emergency" and "do not enter". His resolution wasn't even damaged by the compulsions on the door, or that he need to use unlocking spell to get in.

Inside, standing by the bed he usually was placed, stood Harry Potter, just staring out of the window.

"Hey, Scar-head. Had pleasant vacation?"

There was no response. Harry just stood there. Motionless.

"Sleeping with dementors couldn't be much worse than any kind of hole you crawl into during summertime." Draco tried again, more forcefully, while stepping closer.

This time Harry turned slightly to look at the Slytherin, his face emotionless, and still not responding with any word.

"You think you can just disregard me? Or should I make sure that you still have your voice?" Malfoy sneered, stepping right in front of Harry, and drawing his wand.

Again, Harry just barely shifted his gaze to the wand at his throat, making Draco scowl at his lack of response. Slytherins pondering of the expressionless face was ended by one single sound.

Snap!

'He snapped my wand!' immediately came to his mind. 'How dare he...' but before he got any further, he looked away from Harry's eyes that were again pointed at him, and to the piece of wood that was a little lower.

'Huh? My wand seems to be whole, but is pointing in wrong direction...' so he directed his eyes lower still, and noticed Harry's hand holding his forearm, and that it was twisted in a way it clearly wasn't supposed to.

It's really bizarre what little burst of adrenaline do to you, because what seemed a really long while to Draco, was just a fraction of second between his arm being broken, and pain catching up to him when he crumbled to the floor, screaming in pain.

Moments later Madam Pomfrey came back to the hospital wing with potions and supplies, dropping them when she spotted a student lying on the floor and cradling his arm. His shouts that Potter attacked him would fall on deaf ears, and even his fathers intervention didn't help answering how he was taken inside in the first place, in spite of everything that should keep him outside.

But that didn't interest Harry Potter. As soon as Draco fell to the floor, he got back to what he was doing earlier, ignoring screaming that filled the infirmary the whole time until the nurse took care of him. He just stared out of the window.

* * *

"What happened to him?" was main question Albus Dumbledor wished to be answered during this meeting. Madam Pomfrey, Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, and he himself were the only people present.

"I healed injuries to his body after he was brought from Azkaban. Surprisingly, he wasn't in as bad condition as having a ton of rock thrown at you would cause. Physically he's fine, but..." Poppy Pomfrey stopped, not knowing from where to start.

"I used Legilimency, to asses if there were any mental traumas from what little exposure to dementor he should have." Severus Snape took over, his usual sneer absent. It was clear indication at how serious situation was, since he himself didn't feel there was any place for it. "What I found... " he stopped, shaking his head. "His mind is more and less than empty."

"More or less." Minerva corrected out of habit.

"No. I mean it when I say more AND less than empty." Snape replied, still shaking his head.

"Could you clarify?" prompted Dumbledore.

"Right, so, maybe..." Severus begun, not knowing how to simplify subtle art of mind magic. "Lets say that we have a new born child. Since no one ever attempted Legilimency at someone that young we can't know for certain, but lets assume that there is only first memory. Something like first face, first time hearing parents voices. Anything. Of course as peculiar that memory would look, being filtered by a undeveloped mind, it would be one picture."he stopped to make sure everyone understood this far. "Now, Potter's mind as he is now, is less than empty, that's obvious. But is more than empty than even newborn child. Looking into his thoughts, isn't like shifting through pictures of memories. It's more like standing in a snowstorm, with his memories being the snowflakes. There is no single memory. It's like they were all torn to dust." he stopped, again only shaking his head, not knowing how something like that could happen.

"What does that mean?" asked Minerva, still not understanding the implications.

"It means, that he's no more than an animal." answered Dumbledore in a tired whisper.

"What? How can you say that?" Gryffindor Head of House asked Headmaster, turning to the Nurse for some help, some proof that it wasn't so.

Madam Pomfrey just hung her head.

"As crude of a statement, it's essentially true. While many deny it, humans are only another kind of species on the planet. The main difference is our mind. Our ability to perceive more complex ideas. But without that developing... Mr. Potter right now acts only on instinct and what little he can remember, if any of it. He doesn't mind me when I'm in infirmary, but I think that's mostly because I treated him. In spite that, the first time he woke he was a bit jumpy when I was around. But when he was threatened by Mr. Malfoy, he just removed threat that was in front of him. We all know how that ended. That also explains why he tried to escape from Azkaban. His instincts telling him he was in danger."

"They say he kept running at full speed for nearly ten minutes, meanwhile tearing dementors apart and throwing guards against the walls." Snape said, once again taking part in the conversation.

"I can't explain it, but I would guess it was accidental magic." replied the nurse.

"Accidental magic? How so?" asked Dumbledor, interested in any amount of information that could be used.

"Before children even hear about magic, like muggleborn's do, they can do accidental magic. They just will things to happen. Since Mr. Potter acts on instinct, I think he just disregards everything, and wills things to happen."

"So you say he can do anything he wants without a wand?" asked astonished Transfiguration Professor.

"No, not anything. Like I said before, without a mind to process more complex ideas, you have only instinct. So if he wants to run long enough till he finds exit like he did in Azkaban, I think he would. That also explain how he wasn't badly injured when they captured him, his body acting on instinct, protecting itself from the rocks. I don't know if when he's hungry food would just float to him, but I doubt it. And I also don't think that he can jump as high, or run as fast as he wants. Magic will enhance his strength, greatly. But on one point, his body would just fall apart, no matter how much energy he would use."

"But to tear through dementors?" asked McGonagall.

"Dementors affect mind, causing feelings of terror and dread." explained Snape, knowing more about dark branches of magic than anyone else in the room. "Since there isn't much left of Potter's mind, he isn't affected too much, an can just walk past them. As for the "tear apart", it doesn't do much damage to dementor. They are after all demon spawn. Demons can be held of, like in this case, with Patronus charm. But to defeat and destroy them completely, there is always a price involved." he finished.

"But what now?" asked Minerva after long silence. "What do we do? Should we tell someone about this?"

"And what would you say?" asked Dumbledore, twinkling gone from his eyes. "How would you explain to anyone that Harry Potter is... mindless?"

* * *

AN. If you like this idea, and would like to see more of this, any thoughts/suggestions/etc. would be useful. I would certainly appreciate someone to write this with.

Now, this fic is mix of quite some things. I got an idea "what if Harry was emotionless?". He wouldn't want power, no dark spells, rituals or anything. Just being ruthless about dealing with anyone who is stupid enough to cross his path. That scene with him breaking Malfoy's arm "just like that", wouldn't leave my head.

But since I didn't want to write a psychopath eleven year old, like I would need to if I were to write from year one, I had to think of something else. But how do you throw everything that was before out in an interesting way? That's how you get Azkaban!Creature!Harry. Obviously, this will be a little dark, gory, violent, and anything else like that.

And, if you want to whine that people aren't animals, then check your biology book, or encyclopaedia. Look under Homo sapiens.

I don't know how often I will update this, since for now I treat this as a place where I can unleash my darker side when I have bad mood. Simply said, for now I won't try very hard to add anything. Maybe if I get in really bad mood and just want to kill someone... Maybe...


	2. Chapter 2

I ordered a new name plate to put on my writing desk. It doesn't have my name, title or anything like that on it. All it says is: Not J. K. Rowling.

* * *

A week has passed without any major incidents, with everyone except Madam Pomfrey being refused access to the infirmary. But, in the hindsight, that seemed to be the calm before the storm.

Albus looked sharply from his work when a globe on his desk started glowing a dangerous shade of red. He charmed it to notify him instantly when there would a commotion in the infirmary. He wasted no time to run to his fireplace, and after a quick burst of green flame he was stepping into the infirmary.

"Albus!" the distraught school nurse exclaimed upon seeing him. He was somewhat surprised to see her in that state, as even when she was treating the most horrifying injuries she remained calm.

"What happened, Poppy?" he demanded.

"I've been cleaning the storage room," she begun, calming somewhat when she fell in the familiar role of debriefing her superior, "when Mr. Potter for the first time left his place beside his bed, and went for the door. I immediately stopped him, and tried to explain things, but he just kept trying to step around me. Finally he frowned, since I always refused to let him through, but then his face cleared to that emotionless expression, and after tiling his head slightly, he... he..." she stopped, unable to say any more.

"What, Poppy? What happened?" Albus asked again, a little more forcefully.

She didn't respond, simply turned her head to look at something. He followed her gaze, and only now did he notice a broken window, with wind blowing softly through it, making curtains to dance with every new gust.

He rushed to it, already thinking of implications, especially given the state that Poppy was in. But when he leaned outside of the window, he frowned as there was no body lying somewhere on the ground. He frowned, because he had no idea how the boy could have survived the fall, but that thought quickly vanished, as there was more pressing matter than that.

"We have to search the castle," he ordered while turning back to Poppy, even as the nurse and paintings in the infirmary were already on the move.

* * *

The castle was searched thoroughly, without a single inhabitant of the castle that wasn't involved in the search knowing that there was something wrong. But it hadn't been successful, as there was no sign of Harry Potter anywhere in the castle. In fact, it was Hagrid ,who was coming back to his hut after searching the Forbidden Forest, who called everyone to follow him, since he didn't know how to describe what he saw.

It was once again Albus, Poppy, Minerva and Severus, people clued fully on the state Harry found himself in, with Hagrid leading them on, that were the witnesses of the most extraordinary spectacle.

Harry Potter was fighting the Whooping Willow. Though, one could hardly call if a fight, given the sight that accompanied it. The young man seemed to dance between branches so powerful that one would be more than enough to end his life. Yet he kept dodging each and every single one of them, doing jumps, rolls, twirls and other figures that the most skilled of acrobats would be envious off.

At one point he somehow became aware of their presence, and everyone gave the same kind of sharp intake of air when he stopped mid motion so abruptly, as to say that it was only a picture of him. What spoiled the scene was a branch still flying towards him, with all the intent to squash him like a bug.

Harry closed his eyes, the branch slowed to a stop, and when it was about to retract, he held on to it, being lifted to the crown of the tree, and casually settling himself between the branches.

Everyone gapped at that, and Hagrid, with his ever present tact, was the one to break the silence.

"What the hell was that?" he asked, looking between all the people present.

Everyone else were shaking their head, or muttering something to themself, trying to think of anything that would make what they just saw possible. It was Severus who spoke first.

"He's learning," making everyone look at him for more detailed explanation, "Without any real memory of what the world is, you could say that he's just like a little baby. You know how kids are, with them touching everything or putting that in their mouth. That's how they learn what is what, and what that particular thing feels, smells or tastes like. But he couldn't learn everything from the beginning, since he already knew those things. At least his body, on the physical level, had contact with them already, and only his mind had to catch up to that. What I think he was doing for the last week, simply standing near his bed, was to connect all the dots of what is what in the real world. I mean, I don't think that he suddenly knows all the names people use to call those things, but at least he is aware of the properties of the things that surround him. That's why he was able to escape from the infirmary, since he became aware that windows are only small barier between two pockets of air, and not, for instance, another stretch of wall with pretty paintings on it,"

"And that?" Minerva asked, pointing to the now calm Whooping Willow, but clearly referring to what they had seen just moments before.

"When you know what is around you, all you need to be free is to know how you should move in it," Severus said first thing that came ot his head, "Earlier, he knew his bed and spot next to it, and you could say that there was no world outside of it, as far as he was concerned. But now that he knows that the limitations of his world aren't as narrow as he had previously thought, he is trying to understand how should he move in it all. What are his own limitations," he said with a frown, but then scowled, "He's learning things rapidly, like with the Whooping Willow. It snaps at anyone who comes close to it, and he somehow understood that, that's why he stopped moving. At all. The tree probably thought that there was simply no one there, that's why it haven't finished it's strike, as it would be waste of energy to swing at air,"

"Well, that's good news then, that he's recovering quickly," Albus said a little more cheerfully, but it was short lived as Potions Master started extending his theory even further.

"No, it isn't," Severus said with even fiercer scowl, "While yes, he is improving his understanding of the world and physical condition, one thing is still left aside," at everyone's curious gaze, he shook his head that they didn't see it, "His mind. That he can move freely now doesn't mean he suddenly got his mindset back. And it doesn't mean that he's forming it beyond the level of instinct. Lets take for instance a young foal born in the wilderness. It gets as fast as it can to it's own feet not because it is taught to, or because it is expected to do so. It gets up because it feels that when it wont get going, it will be left to die. It isn't a reaction to a mental stimulation, but necessity born from simple survival instinct. And have any of you watched Potter closely? Noticed something about his eyes?"

That made everyone else frown. "What about his eyes?" Poppy was the one to ask, clearly displeased with herself that she might have missed something.

"He doesn't blink," Severus announced, making everyone do just that in surprise, "Have you ever seen a predator stalking it's prey? Eyes focused on the prize, _not blinking_ even once, as to not loose the slight chance to attack?" he asked, making everyone else's eyes to widen at the implications.

"That's why it isn't so good at all, that he's improving so rapidly. Because tell me, Albus," he started, turning to the man in question. "What will you do when a human-shaped predator, without even the most basic moral inhibitions of a regular person, for instance that you shouldn't eliminate anything in your path simply because it's inconvenient, start stalking the halls of your school? And with the additional knowledge that he's more capable than anyone else in sight, what he did to young Malfoy will be the least he could do to anyone that bothers him next," Severus finished, making everyone else turn to the man lying casually between the branches of the plan that was probably the most brutal one on the entire grounds, and see him in entirely different perspective.

Albus was no longer so certain that it was such a good idea to keep Harry Potter in the castle. He haven't hurt Poppy, that much was true, but with all the inter-house hostility that he was now so painfully aware of, he couldn't predict what would happen in the future.

* * *

While teachers were discussing things on the grounds, a bushy-haired girl was sitting on her own on a certain bed in the fifth year boy's dormitory of the Gryffindor tower.

Hermione found herself constantly going there, as even as it was only one week into the school year, she painfully realised just who was her one and only friend. Without Harry there to settle or mellow things a little, rows between her and Ron became harsher every single time they saw each other, forming a snowball effect, and making them fight simply because...

That's why she made a habit of going to Harry's bed, drawing curtains tightly around it, and securing herself from the rest of the worl. She knew that it was strange, hiding behind him even as he wasn't there, but she understood that thing too. That always, from the moment she was attacked by a troll, through their expedition for the Philosopher's Stone... Pretty much every single time they found themselves in some kind of trouble, he was there beside her, protecting her in one way or another at every single step. And, oh how she needed that protection. That feeling of security that he gave her simply by being there.

She knew it was stupid, but after couple of times she got there, she became playing with his things. Her mood even shut off her need to read books, as she somehow knew that they weren't his favourite things to have. But his wand, which she mindlessly twirled in her fingers, simply because she knew he loved magic. Or his Quidditch jersey, which she put on to remind herself of his smell, even as she firmly made herself to think that it was only because of his love of the game.

And Hedwig. Oh how well she now understood how he loved that smart bird. She would frequently find herself in the owl's company, as even the companion was held away from Harry, and the sadness over that fact was clear when she looked into Hedwig's eyes. Now it didn't seem strange at all, all those times when he told her about the conversations he held with his owl. Hermione smiled whenever she heard that soft tapping on the window, and they would simply sit together, her scratching the bird, and the owl rubbing her head against her cheek. Both quietly consoling the other that it was all going to be okay. Somehow...

But when Hedwig was away and she once again found herself all alone, she continued searching through Harry's trunk. She was past they point of thinking if it was proper to search, if he would be mad at her when he came back. She had settled on the thought that if he couldn't understand just how she felt in that moment, if he couldn't forgive her this, that she had no friends at all.

But that day, during her search for something else that might have reminded her of another happy memory, she stumbled upon a notebook. It wasn't anything from the magical world. It was an ordinary notebook, and with her curious nature, she couldn't help but open it, only for her eyes to widen when she realised that it was Harry's diary. But seeing that messy handwriting again, she just couldn't stop herself from reading.

_I don't know what I'm bloody doing, starting to write this, but it sometimes feels just too much to think. I guess now I know what Dumbledore spoke of when he said that Pensieve is such a useful thing. But I don't have a Pensieve, and I simply can't stand it any more._

_What the hell is wrong with people? Why do they constantly want something from me? All those stories about the Boy-Who-Lived, those mighty deeds that he accomplished. If that's me, then why are they constantly shredding my reputation to bits whenever I do something, anything, that they don't like? If they don't like it, why don't they do a bloody thing themselves, instead criticising me that I'm not the person they wish for me to be._

_And I bloody are not that person. I'm Harry, not the mighty hero everyone want to see. Most of the times I don't know what I'm doing myself, say nothing about knowing precisely what to do with the world. I don't have any super powers that might help me get all of this over with. In fact, I probably can do even less than most of people..._

_Sometimes I wonder if this isn't the first step to be turning Dark, especially now that I've started this stupid diary like a certain Dark Lord had at some point in time. Yeah, Tom, I'm talking about you you bloody bastard. Have you too had that need to curse everyone in sight simply because they wouldn't stop bothering you? I guess you had, and now you're making up for it with your servants._

_But how hard can it be, to go on with your life without sticking your foot in someone's face? How hard can it be for other people to go fuck themselves and leave me ALONE?_

"Oh, Harry," Hermione muttered softly, closing the book sharply, as she couldn't read anymore, with hot tears streaming down her cheeks. She hugged the small book tightly to her chest, and rocked softly back and forth, thinking just how little she knew about her one and only friend.

* * *

AN. A lot shorted than I would like it to be, but seriously I don't have that much ideas for this. But since there is some people with this story in allerts, i guess you deserve a follow up from time to time. I'm sorry it's not that often, but with Finding Why's still going on...

Severus is explaining things because he's the person who combines the mundane and magical world mindset in the group. Wizards probably would think what spells they could cast on Harry to make him back to normal, and Snape sees that what is happening is natural, even if distrubing.

As much as I don't like making Hermione suffer, I had to make someone find the diary, since as Harry can't exactly speak his mind, he needs to have other means of voicing his thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

Why it should be I who has to constantly clarify that I'm not J. K. Rowling? I would rather see the person who is spewing those ridiculous rumours do it...

* * *

From the diary of Harry James Potter:

_There is no such thing as happiness. The only thing that makes people believe it exists, is people's own wish for it to be there. But really, what can you count on in life?  
_

_On one hand, you can be a "good" person, doing your work and minding your own business day in and day out. But that only makes you a sheep, mindlessly following the schedule while life takes a bite at you from time to time. You say that it can be enough? You're delusional._

_In every person there is a void, an empty space that never can be filled, and it constantly makes us want more. That's why the grass is always greener on the other side of the hill, life is better, but more than anything, you can do so much more. It isn't even because it's all true. The reason people constantly think that is because, somewhere deep down, they know for sure that their life simply sucks._

_But what can you do about it? Scratch and bite, scratch your way no matter what, to that little piece of heaven you so dearly desire? That will only make other people call you insane, dangerous, and they'll hate you for the simple fact that you even tried. Maybe, just maybe, some centuries later someone will admit that you did something good, tried to show a way... But who gives a fuck about people who didn't even know you, adding their own shit to your already messed up life?_

_So, what will it be? Because the only choice you can make in your life is if you want a long mediocre life filled with nothing, or a moment when you shine brightly, giving everything you can, but also getting a lifetime of struggle dumped on your head..._

* * *

Hogwart's houses were meant to be a family for the students of the school. They should house a student, provide him with friends and guideance, no matter what kind of problem should they encounter. But have anyone ever though of what would happen if a house should renounce one of their own?

Obviously not, since then Luna wouldn't be in the situation she found herself in now.

Ridiculed by her own house mates, from the very first year, from the moment everyone noticed that she was all alone, she became Hogwart's punch-bag. Taking her things and scattering them around the castle was what it all only started with. Soon enough, if anyone needed to vent some steam, she would be the first one to know all about it.

Loony being a little out of touch with the world? Clearly no one knew just through what kind of crap she had to go through every day simply to get to sleep in her own bed. With everything that happened to her it was even a wonder that she haven't fully barricaded herself in her own imaginary safe haven. She didn't, because... Well, it was all okay...

Luna was never one to hold a grudge.

But a group that was currently giving her "what she deserved for being such a weirdo" – thing they repeated over and over again, to somehow inforce the weak excuse they produced to make it all right – didn't knew that Harry was once again able to slip out of infirmary, this time without raising a single alarm bell. And even if he couldn't possibly remember it, his body knew all too well how a round of Harry-hunting felt.

Two of the group surrounding the girl were thrown into air, with cacophony of breaking ribs accompanying their meeting with the wall – everything before anyone else even noticed what was happening. Two people that were fastest with their wands and managed to whip them out got their shoulders dislocated when they were pulled with such a force that they skidded along the corridor, landing in a heap at it's end.

Two bulkiest people from the three that remained, seeing that it was only one person standing against them, got the idea that they could overpower him. Moments later they were both lying on the floor, clutching their legs, as one flowing kick managed to undercut both of them, making them unable to stand again because of the multiple fractures.

The last person, still couldn't comprehend how all of this was happening, and because of that, instead of simply running away, even while backing away, still tried to maintain what he thought to be his superior composure, and pointed his wand at the person who was casually walking towards him.

One spell was all that he managed, as the other person leaped aside, bouncing of the wall, and doing a twirl to control his momentum. At other point in time, under different circumstances, it could even be beautiful, because when all the forces balanced themselves out, it looked, just for and instance, that the man was defying gravity by standing on the ceiling. As it was, the effect was spoiled, because when the momentum was lost, he slammed into the last person standing, pressing him to the ground and breaking both of his shoulders as an effect.

"I'll kill you," the person on the floor snarled through the pain and his rage, but in his position, it was unimaginable how he could accomplish that.

Harry who was still standing on the other man's torso didn't reply, simply bent down and grabbed his throat. He was about to squeeze, but one word stopped it all...

"Don't,"

It wasn't a command. It wasn't even spoken above a whisper. But it was successful. Because, even while Harry could be said to not understand the word itself, given his predicament, he understood all too well what accompanied that word.

Compassion.

He stood, turning to the girl that spoken to him. To the bruised and beaten girl in a torn school robe, since her tormentors didn't had the opportunity to cover their doings.

Luna walked past him, knowing, somehow, that she wouldn't accomplish anything by talking to him. Instead, she walked right up to the fallen boy who had passed out from the pain, and checked him for injuries, before starting the healing needed to stabilize his condition. Out of necessity, she was good with healing spells.

Harry watched all of this curiously. A girl who had been mistreated, now helping those who had hurt her because of the simple conviction that no human being should be hurt like that.

When she was done, Luna stood up, and headed in the direction of the infirmary without another word.

When she rounded the corner, the scene was broken, and Harry no longer could see anything of interest here. Instead, he noticed something else... somewhere else.

* * *

Hermione didn't have streangth to drag it on like that. Whenever she met Ron, it somehow, in ways she couldn't even start to grasp, ended in a screaming match. It wasn't even about words, but about the genuine hate she could hear in the voice of her once-upon-a-time friend. Was he even that? She didn't know. And right now, she didn't care, wanting only to run up the steps and be with Harry. It was no longer only with his things, because of his diary, she could get even so closer to him. Because even while it pained her to know him like _that_, it didn't change the fact that it was him, or the fact that...

What stopped her mid step was a massive intake of air, and a muffled curse when someone was pushed against a wall. She turned, only to stop breathing, because _he_ was there. With his untameable raven-black hair. Then she took the whole scene, and only now noticed Ron struggling against Harry's hand, which held him couple of inches above the floor.

"What the hell are you doing?" Ron spat angrily, "Some time in Azkaban and you think you're so bad ass, don't you, you fuc-" he wasn't able to finish, being thrown agains opposite wall. But faster than anyone could blink, Harry was right next to him, once again holding him against the wall.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Ron repeated, "You finally gone around the bend? Why don't you go play with Loony-"

At the mention of Luna, Harry didn't simply throw him against another wall. Instead, still holding him above the ground, he pushed him through the glass and held him outside of the window of the Gryffindor tower.

With his back cut by the glass, and his mind clouded by rage, even in this situation Ron wasn't about to be more polite.

"Fuck y-" he stopped, but this time all on his own. It wasn't even because he noticed just how close he was to being dead. Instead, having Harry right in front of him, he took a good look at the man who clearly was about to kill him, and noticed one important thing. Something he haven't noticed before.

"Harry!" Hermione picked this moment to shake herself out of the shock, and when he turned his head to look at her, "Put him down on the floor," she said, even in this situation not managing to remove the bossiness out of her tone.

Harry turned back to Ron, who was now motionless, with his wide eyes looking at the raven-haired boy like he saw him for the first time in his life. After a moment, he did step back from the window and settled Ron to the side, where the boy slumped do the ground, not able to stand by himself because of the shock.

Like nothing even happened, Harry moved towards the window, taking a step onto the ledge like he was about to jump out.

"Harry!" Hermione screamed again. She wanted to run to him, to hold him and tell him to stay. But when he turned his head to look at her, all she saw was an expressionless face, and eyes which no longer carried any emotion.

It only made tears to start rolling from her eyes, and she did couple of uncertain steps, her legs numb from the sorrow. But someone stopped her. She turned to curse at anyone who might stop her from reaching Harry, but stopped in schock when she noticed that it was Ron. It wasn't because it was him in itself, but because, for the first time in a long time, she saw a friend. She stared into his eyes, and they were filled with the same sadness and pain she was feeling.

She glanced once more towards the window, but saw nothing except the wind came through the broken window, rustling the heavy courtains. She started crying there, in the middle of the common room, but it wasn't as bad as she thought it might be, with Ron there consoling her as best as he could.

* * *

With those two occurrences not being the only ones Harry took part in that day, as much as he wanted to, Dumbledore couldn't simply cover everything up as it was nothing, since additional beds had to be brought to the infirmary to accommodate everyone hurt, and the person responsible for it was still nowhere to be seen.

Soon enough, he had a group of raging parents and their children, because even while the injuries could be healed over night, the _trauma_ their children endured just couldn't be omitted. And, of course, the person responsible had to be brought to justice.

Luna, Hermione and Ron, as people affected by the proceedings, were included in the meeting as well. But after sitting there and listening to people stating in different ways just what kind of psychopath Harry was, Ron had had enough.

"Won't you just shut up already!" he screamed, and of course, instantly the mob was on him, telling just what a child he was, and to not interrupt when adults were speaking.

One person, though, had another idea.

"If you have something to tell in this matter, Mr. Weasley, please, speak freely," Dumbledore said, when he finally managed to get everything in order, holding people who would like to disagree wit him with a pointed look.

"I've heard all about what you _think_, and clearly not one of you have an idea what exactly happened,"

"And why do you think you know?" Lucius asked, whit his smirk firmly in place.

"I don't know. Maybe the fact that I have first hand experience instead of second hand supported by my conviction that my child is a saint?" Ron challenged, and even while Malfoy senior glared back, the rest of the parents clearly felt embarrassed. "But if you want a proof if I know anything, fine, I'll give you one," he stated and turned to the group of the students.

"Tell me, Draco, you weren't exactly asking Harry about the weather when he broke your arm, right?" he asked, and even while the younger Malfoy glared back just like his father, he didn't say a word in response.

"Or you," he turned to a whole group," you weren't exactly asking Luna to come to a tea party, now were you?" he asked, and didn't even look at Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle or Nott, as like with other Slytherins, he thought that they would be too full of themselves to do anything but hate him. Instead, he turned to Cho, and two other Ravenclaws he didn't know by name. He watched them hung their heads.

"Did anyone do anything fluffy and nice when Harry got to you?" he asked, and just like he thought, no one responded.

"What are you insinuating?" Lucius got back in the conversation.

"I'm not insinuating anything, just asking questions about possible thing they might have been doing. If you do that long enough, you might even know what really happened," Ron shot back, being unable to hold his sarcasm. It was fortunate for him that both of his parents weren't able to come, since he would be in real trouble.

"But could we finally hear what is on your mind, Mr. Weasley?" Dumbledore asked, wanting to move the conversation back on the right track.

"Everyone keep saying how Harry is a psychopath, a savage and an animal. But I doubt he's anything of that kind, since I don't think any of those would let people live when they're set on to kill them," he said, and once more returned to that evening.

"While he was holding me outside of that window, his face blank, not showing hate or pleasure, I looked into his eyes, and they were as emotionless as his face. But instead, I saw something else. I saw me, hateful and angry, staring right back at me, and I didn't like what I saw," he finished, glancing at Hermione who gave him a sad smile in return.

"What are you getting on about?" Lucius interrupted again, loosing his patience.

"Once I saw a mirror which showed you your hearts desire," Ron continued, not minding the older Malfoy, "Harry's eyes reminded me of that, because he's just that. A mirror, a tool, showing people just what kind of monsters they truly are. He responds with violence when he encounters it," he stated, sweeping the room with his gaze, "and he responds with mercy, when asked for it," he added, turning to face Luna.

"Because sometimes, doing the right thing, doesn't mean doing the right thing," Hermione cited a line from Harry's diary under her breath, but still, Luna and Ron caught it.

"So, what are you saying?" asked one of the parents in the back when the three stood up to leave, having enough of this farce.

"I'm saying that if you want to look for people responsible, some people just need to look into a mirror, and look carefully," Ron turned by the door, letting the other girls exit in front of him, "And if you want justice, you don't need to do anything else, because I think everyone got what they deserved," he added before exiting.

"Merling knows I did," he added with a sigh when he closed the door behind himself.

* * *

AN. I made Ron the spokesperson because Hermione is too emotionally compromised to think straight, and Luna is... Well, Luna. Besides, he just understood what a douche-bag he was, so I wanted to give him a little credit.

I just understood that this isn't my kind of story. Violence isn't the reason, but the thing that I have to hurt people like Luna. I don't want to, but I need to, since I wouldn't like to write things like "Draco looked at him hatefully, and Harry started killing everyone in sight..."


	4. Chapter 4

I'm too tired to think of a new way to tell you I'm not J. K. Rowling...

* * *

From the diary of Harry James Potter:

_Where exactly was the moment when people started respecting life to the point of not respecting it at all? I mean, look at all the things that once served a purpose, but right now are ridiculous if you think about them._

_Prisons for instance. After a person leaves it, what the hell are they supposed to do? No one will give a honest job to a convict. So nice to see that that label thing people like to do so often still working so fine. When you're a convict, a mental person, a liar, thief... you keep that label for pretty much the rest of your life if you don't run far enough to a place where no one knows. So nice to see that no one really believes in the systems that are maintained to correct all of the above._

_But you can't do that, right? Even after you're free to leave the prison, they still have to maintain a vigil over you. So, you can't get a decent job, since no one will risk it, can't move, since no one will allow it, and you're stuck with all the crap that got you in trouble in the first place still going on around you, but this time with someone watching pretty much your every move. I guess I have to check again what exactly is the definition of "frustrating"..._

_So, either you keep this up, which doesn't exactly do anything good for your mental or emotional state of mind, or you snap... Then it's back to prison again. And in there? How nice of the society to keep all the dangerous people in one place. If you won't turn into animal trying to simply stay alive, then when you get out you probably know even more of crime than when you got first brought in. That ends the loop, bringing even more frustration, since you know there are better ways to do money, but can't really do anything about it._

_That situation itself, when problem is just patched, not really solved, is strange on it's own. But the situation gets blown out of proportion when you think about life sentence. Before, there was death penalty. A quick zap or an injection and a problematic person was out of the system in an instance. Now, on the other hand, we are too moral for that, and that's why we keep people imprisoned till the end of their life. Better yet, we imprison them telling that it's till they die, and then release them after fifty or so years._

_Oh, yeah, that'll teach them. Taking away not persons life, but their purpose, telling them that they are meaningless from now on. Then, occasionally, we change our mind and let one old man go to see him try to once again get used to society, after more than half of his life spent in an institution. That's the main point of this, right? Death wasn't really that much of a punishment, that's why we make people live their life, but suffering as much as they can. That's why the rest of society is willing to pay for their stay on this earth, no matter how long it takes, right? I can respect that. But only when people tell it outright. Saying that we're more humanitarian this way is just like saying that shit don't stink._

_Why do we do it? Sanctity of life? Maybe human lives were so sacred in times when we dropped dead from simple flu. But in times like these, when humans are in nearly every spot of the planet, why are we still refusing to take several casualties? Especially from people that aren't part of the society in the first place. Because, seriously, screwing with their lives is so much better as a solution... "At least they're still alive."_

_But what kind of life is that?_

_When exactly was the moment when we started respecting life to the point of disrespecting it?_

* * *

It's strange how rarely anyone mind words of a person Ron's age – especially when those words are true. Because, as strange as it might seem, the feeling that he had while facing Harry, and which he shared with everyone that evening, was probably the best estimation of what was driving the boy on the run at that point in time. Or at least the best place to start looking for the exact answer.

But as it was, no one paid that much attention to a confused boy who had to have his facts mixed up in the traumatic event he went through, resulting in what clearly had to be an emotional outburst in attempt to protect a friend.

No one. Especially not Lucius Malfoy. With his connection to the Minister of Magic, the Hogwart's grounds in short time were crawling with Aurors searching to cage what seemed to be the newest addition to the beasts of the Forbidden Forest.

But then, something strange happened. Instead of Aurors finding Harry, he found them instead. One by one, small search parties were dropping from the grid, only to be found some time later, all beaten and bruised.

The thought that Harry could in only couple of hours take care of what everyone thought would be too much people for such a simple job, was baffling in it's own right. But the truly bizarre thing was what happened after all those sent in first finished their report.

All of them wanted to go home. Nothing more, but to simply go home, spend a quiet evening with the family if one had it, spend some time with long lost friends if he didn't. Drink a good cup of tea, do a bloody crossword puzzle... Anything, but to go back into the field and hunt Harry Potter. No, more than that. Anything but to raise a hand against another man ever again.

It was sealed by the fact that all those long rivalries, bordering with open hatred, ceased to exist in an instant. People that _met_ Harry, no matter how ready to kill each other they seemed before, could be spotted on multiple occasions talking like old time friends, or even simply asking a sincere "How are you holding up?" when spotting each other nearby.

Quickly it became apparent that there was more truth in that story that rumour brought, that Potter wasn't out of a sudden being violent for the sake of being violent, but instead, he was literally striking a point. There was something in the encounter itself, something more than the violence itself, a mental, emotional, or other kind of charge, that stayed with a person long after all their bruises were healed.

Soon, the name of Harry Potter became the equivalent of a life changing event.

But in all the commotion and confusion after that initial attempt to catch him, no one really noticed when they lost track of the rampaging boy.

Well, until he started leaving a clear trail behind him.

A trail of blood.

* * *

Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt strode into the relatively large cabin house, not minding all the other Aurors checking the rest of the building for any kind of useful information.

He went straight to the drawing room, but upon reaching the threshold of the room, he stopped, seeing for the first time with his own eyes the case that just got dumped on his desk.

"Not what you were expecting, right?" Tonks asked, walking to his side, and peering inside the room. She was there for quite some time, but even now, after so much time, chill still crept down her spine every time she looked at the mess.

"What do we have so far?" Kingsley asked in a no-nonsense tone.

"Entrance through the front door that was blown inside the house-" Tonks read the report, getting straight to business.

"With what spell?" the tall Auror interrupted.

"Nothing we could detect," came a quiet answer.

Shacklebolt rubbed his eyes tiredly, before he turned to his partner and asked a question he already knew the answer to.

"Potter?"

Tonks only shrugged with a tired sigh, since the fact was so painfully obvious.

Kingsley just shook his head, not really bothering to ask how the boy got to the front door in the first place. It seemed that rumours were more true than not, and the boy, while sacrificing his magic, somehow managed to grow a skin akin to that of a giant, making him highly spell resistant. It seemed he could simply walk through most of the wards, while the energy washed over him

In fact, this wasn't their first encounter with handiwork of Harry Potter. In fact, over the last couple of weeks there was enough occurrences that Department of Magical Law Enforcement created a unit whose efforts were concentrated sorely on catching the boy. That Kingsely and Tonks were it, didn't change the fact that the decision was big in itself.

"Fine," Shacklebolt muttered, once again glancing around the destroyed room, "Don't give me the bureaucratic crap. Just simply tell me what exactly happened here?"

"Well," Tonks started, glancing at her report to remind herself of the more important points, "From what we gathered, and what the widow supplied, it was..."

* * *

It was a calm, warm evening. One that didn't happen often enough would be the usual answer from anyone that had lived through it. A perfect time to simply sit in the garden sipping on a drink and star gazing. It was that kind of a time when someone could loose track of the world, and truly enjoy the simplest things in life.

Unfortunately, for the residents of Macnair residence, this evening wouldn't play out in a way allowing them to enjoy it.

"I'll get that," Mrs. Macnair called to her husband after a knock on the door could be heard.

But when she opened the door, her blood ran cold. She heard the rumours about the Boy-Who-Lived attacking magical families in retaliation of what happened to him in Azkaban just coupled months earlier. But never, in her entire life, could she say just how much people understated him.

She stood, frozen in place, watching him watch her. He was closer to a mannequin than a man, standing there without any sign of movement, with his blank expression and unblinking eyes. But even with all of that, she was painfully aware that he was watching her every move, drilling through her with his gaze down to her very soul. Observing. Waiting. Judging... Just the thought of it sent chill running though her body.

She was dimly aware that if she played things right, all would be well. But then her nature kicked in, and decided what to do for her.

She didn't like the idea of being threatened, not saying anything about it being done in her own house. With a snarl, she shut the door in his face, and rushed towards her wand to activate the more dangerous set of wards. It was overly known that Walden Macnair wasn't the nicest person to his enemies.

But she had only time to close the door and whirl around when she learned in a very painful manner that that was the mistake she was thought of not doing. After a swift kick, the big chunk of wood that once was the doors came flying towards her, striking her in the back and carrying her with it for couple of feet, after which it lost it's momentum and collapsed on top of her.

Harry casually walked into the house, watching feet sticking from what previously was the door. That was, until he wasn't interrupted. He turned to regard Walden Macnair standing on the landing between the floors, growling in anger, and tilted his head to the side. It would be in thought, if he was thinking at the moment. Instead, that small movement was all that it took from his part to avoid the curse sent his way, making it pass harmlessly over his shoulder.

He didn't run up the steps to meet the man. Instead, he jumped stright up, gripping the landing of the second floor, and with a little pull, he was crouching higher than Walden, with the banister limiting his access to the higher ground.

But he wasn't aiming to get there, and with a powerful jump, he launched himself into the air, stopping against the opposite wall, and sliding down it to stand right behind his target.

All of the gymnastics that Harry accomplished was such a sight for any wizard, not saying the speed and fluidity of his movements, that it made Walden strain his neck, just trying to keep with the boy's current position. But when the raven-haired boy found his way to stand behind him, Macnair whirled in such a way that made him stumble and fall down the stairs – without Harry even as much as touching him.

The banging against the stairs was the only sound in the other wisely quite house, with sound of breaking bone, wood, and a muffled shout of pain accompanying it.

Harry simply watched the man roll down the stairs, clutching his broken arm when he found himself at the bottom. Still with his casual pace, he followed him downstairs, following with his gaze as the man tried hurriedly to get into the drawing room and get his hands on a spare wand hidden there.

The problem with that was that, pretty much as any other Death Eater, Walden Macnair had pretty strong security protecting his stash, and even for him, it took a while to get in there. Having multiple injuries and many fractured bones wasn't exactly helping.

But Harry wasn't exactly in a hurry to follow him. On his way down, he noticed Mrs. Macnair covering in one corner, and just like before, stopped to look at her.

As much as she didn't want to, her eyes locked with his, and she once again got that feeling that it was her choice what happened there and then. This time though, she simply closed her eyes, somewhat feeling like a little girl again, staying in her corner and simply wishing that the bogeyman from beneath her bed would be gone...

A muffled curse, couple of swift steps, a sound of bone breaking, and a yell. Those were the sounds that replied to her prayers. They happened in such a quick succession that if she would know what it was, she would said that it all sounded like a gunshot. It startled her out of her shock, and opening her eyes, she saw no monster standing in her path... So she ran. She ran till her breath caught on fire, her blood turned to acid, and her muscles tore them self apart.

Then she ran some more, with screams of her husband still ringing in her ears.

* * *

"That's as solid of a description as we can get from all that we've gathered," Tonks summed things up.

"And the widow?" Kingsley asked after a while.

"We found her, treated her... But she won't stop apologising for being rude..." the pink haired Auror muttered the last part while scratching her head.

"So, like with all the others, the victim had been left alone with Potter, with no one nearby to ask to spare them. And if you believe the recent theory, it's the equivalent of leaving someone locked with their hatred..." Kingsley summed up, just like he did on so many previous occasions.

"Some hatred, huh?" Tonks commented.

Shacklebolt glared at her for a moment, but then once again turned to inspect the room. It was hard to believe that what laid in the middle of the room was once a human being. Now it only resembled the proverbial pulp. He glanced at the walls, with all the furniture laying destroyed by them. There probably wasn't an inch of wallpaper that wasn't covered with a speck of blood. Kignsley took the picture in, and the only way he could think of recreating it was to roll a man into a ball and start baouncing against the walls... Thinking of all the things Potter was said to be able to do, that was probably the closest description to what happened.

"I give up," Kingsley muttered while heading outside.

"Come on, boss," Tonks whined, following right behind him, "Don't crack up now. I know it's messiest that we've seen, but that's not the reason-"

"That's not it," he snapped, stopping to look at the grassy hills surrounding the cottage, "Think of what we're doing here. Potter is effectively reducing the number of Death Eaters in general population, yet we're here to catch _him_ not _them_... Sure, he roughed up some other people, but if a kid deserves a spanking from time to time, then why the same rule doesn't apply to adults? And have you seen a single person that met Potter do something against another person since the moment of their encounter?" he asked, challenging Tonks to lie to him.

"Come on, boss," the auror chose different answer, "I know what you mean, but we're here to protect the order, and not help some vigilante to break the law," she pleaded.

"Yeah, THE Law," Kingsley muttered sarcastically, "But how good is a law that protects the people we're trying to get rid of?"

* * *

AN. I'm in a pretty lousy mood, so, sorry if this doesn't go well with someone. Also, if someone reading this is also following Finding Why's, I'm sorry, but I don't see myself writing a chapter this week. Even as I know what I would like to write, I can't define it the way I would like it to look... Like I said, not my best time.


	5. Chapter 5

Actually, even if I were J. K. Rowling, this story is still free and I don't get anything out fo it, so you would be able to read it just the same, right?

* * *

From the diary of Harry James Potter:

_War is inevitable. It is when you live in the world that we see right now._

_Obviously, there are many ways to prevent it, with the simplest solution being that people finally learnt how to let go. Simplest, but not easiest. Who in this greed-driven world of people shouting "I want it! Give it to me! That's mine!" would decide to simply step back and let go, whenever something of value is at stake?_

_It's strange that no matter what we do – build new cities, make a breakthrough in science, go to new planets – throughout it all, one single truth stays the same. The fact that the greatest danger to man is man himself._

_So, if we can't deal with it peacefully, there's another simple enough way to stop history from repeating itself._

_Whenever there is a war or a conflict, all the people involved in it have to die. And no, not only the soldiers that fight in it, but their families, close friends or anyone else who, after that side looses could say:_

_"I hate them, because they killed one of my friends", "It's because of them that we lost our homes", "It was their fault in the first place"..._

_In the end, we need to learn to let things go. If we can't get used to the idea that some things happened, but they're long in the past, then it's better to simply erase it from, not only the pages of history, but also the memory of anyone who could have seen, heard or experience it in any way._

_If we don't let go of the past, the future will be tainted with grievances growing just below the surface, old animosities gaining strength while they're hidden, and somewhere in the future... people once again stabbing others in the back, basing their acts on something that happened long ago._

* * *

Months were passing one after the other, with Harry Potter's presence being all too well known in the magical community, as the body count kept raising steadily. Wizards begun to fear and hate him in really short span, even though it was common knowledge that he attacked only bad people. Those that knew they were bad, feared the time when he would finally knock on their doors. The good ones, feared and hated him in turns, since they never could know for sure if he wouldn't knock one day.

But since thus far, Harry was attacking only Death Eaters, one thing no one thought about, even though it was inevitable, was coming closer and closer to becoming true...

* * *

"My Lord! _He'_s here!" a terrified Death Eater burst into the Dark Lord's chambers. He didn't even had the opportunity to relay that quarter of their troops were already in no condition to even stand when:

"Crucio!" came the reply.

It wasn't even that Voldemort was annoyed at such a sudden entrance. It was rather about the fact that he was the one meant to strike fear in everyone's minds. When anyone shouted that _he_ was here, it should be him, Voldemort, the most powerful warlock of all times that everyone had in mind and trembled in fear at mere thought of his presence. Not some brat that just happened to go on a killing spree.

But as it was, he wasn't too worried about Potter being there. In fact, he considered it to be the good news. Finally he would have the opportunity to deal with the boy once an for all. Voldemort chuckled darkly as he stepped over the still twitching body, leaving his chambers to join in the fun.

* * *

Death Eaters had epiphany. Every single one of them, and as a whole group, they had a sudden realisation. And it wasn't even that grand. They simply finally understood what, in reality, they were.

Punks.

It finally struck them that they are not the most powerful group in the entire wizarding world. They finally realised that what they were doing so far was to kill some unarmed people and kids, or play cheap tricks to loose the aurors that were after them. They finally saw that the only way they could play was dirty.

That in itself was one thing, but it really struck home when they encountered someone just as ruthless as they were, but far more better at the game they were playing.

Potter didn't hold back. He wasn't inhibited by any moral code or a lifetime of proper behaviours stopping him. When he meant to kill someone, he simply di it. Quickly and brutally.

And no matter what they threw at him, no matter how cheap or dirty their move would be, he showed them that it could get even worse.

Whenever they cursed him, he didn't simply dodge or block like they were used to. Instead, he used one of their own as a shield, throwing the rotting carcase back at them. When someone got the idea to turn the entire floor into a lake of acid, he used bodies as stepping stones to simply walk out.

And when he managed to get up close, he wasn't about fighting. He was about effects. He didn't play around, but simply broke their arms to prevent them from lifting a wand at him. He crushed their windpipes to prevent even a muttered curse to come his way. And when it came to it, he snapped their legs to prevent them from running away.

Even when standing on the other side of the room, watching that happen to anyone else, every single Death Eater finally realised that they were terrorists, able only to take candy away from children, not really suited to real combat. Because even in their own game, they were only brats, not knowing what they were doing in the face of someone with greater skills.

Simply put, they weren't expecting to live much longer.

But then something strange happened. Everything stopped. They watched Potter simply stand there in the middle of the room, and they were too terrified to try anything, since they couldn't be sure if he wasn't just taunting them. But it wasn't long before a single voice spoil the previously impeccable silence.

"So glad to meet you again, Potter," Dark Lord said while stepping into the room, casually moving to stand right in front of the boy. "I received the news that you no longer use magic, and became a bit more physical, and that's why I decided to prepare this little thing for you," Voldemort continued his monologue.

"You see, what you're experiencing now is a simple Body-bind, although with couple of improvements. This version doesn't stop you from moving," the Dark Lord stated, and his lips curled into a cruel smirk when a sudden snap reverberated through the room, and left Harry with a bone jutting out of his arm, "although it does block all the movement in the body, making it act against itself," the man finished his explanation, watching with interest how the boy never even blinked when his bone got broken.

"Simply said, the more _physical_ you get, the worse for wear your body..." the greatest warlock of all times stopped his bragging, and everyone could see that even he was baffled when the bone sticking from Harry's arm snapped back into it's place, with the flesh healing itself instantly, not leaving even the slightest scar.

"Now, that's truly unexpected," Dark Lord muttered, returning his gaze to eyes that were unwaveringly staring back at him. "You know, I intended to torture you in lenght, before finally killing you and returning your body to general population. And even though this healing ability you have there would help in making the fun last longer, I clearly see that you don't have even the slightest appreciation for pain, and general population as it is now would simply sigh with relief at the news that you are no longer alive... That's why I'm simply going to kill you," he said, while taking his wand out and pointing the tip right between Harry's eyes.

"Farewell, Harry Potter," he said, but paused. It was the slightest pause, but it was still there. The whole situation didn't feel right, with the boy standing there, drilling him with his eyes... He felt that something strange was going on, but his need to get it over with won, and after that minuscule pause, he whispered the words.

"Avada Kedavra"

* * *

Darkness.

That was all that he knew. There was no time, no space. Nothing tangible aside of that overwhelming darkness.

But then, after a second or a millennia of lasting in that suspended state, things begun to appear out of the thin air. A motorcycle that flew by, only to disappear moments after it appeared. A big black dog walking past him, vanishing when he turned to follow it with his gaze. A broken down mattress that felt strangely familiar.

All the strange things, appearing and vanishing like flashback from a long forgotten dream. The more things appeared, the longer they lasted. An envelope with a writing done in emerald ink. A piece of wood that probably was more than it looked like. A strange, ugly old hat. A broom. A baby looking like it had been flayed...

All those seemingly unrelated items, floating around him, like if he was suspended in a galaxy of his own. But he didn't pay attention to them. Not the ones that were there, nor the new ones that appeared all the time. Things were never his main interest.

Instead, he turned to a window. No, not a window. A mirror, he corrected himself, looking at the strange frame with clawed feet, and and inscription carved into it. He didn't knew why he had the idea that it was a mirror, since it clearly didn't reflect him. Instead, it showed him a couple.

A man and a woman were on the other side. They weren't happy, he noticed. The woman was screaming and beating at the glass, crying and screaming for some reason. The man was trying to calm her down, because, although still sad, he knew that there was nothing they could do. Finally, after holding her close for a while, they turned their backs to the glass and started walking away, and just as if they have left the room, the light coming from the other side vanished.

The mirror was still there, but it's once light surface changed to be entirely black, and it resembled polished obsidian more than anything. But it was then that it started doing it's proper job, reflecting whatever stood in front of him.

But was it really him? All he really saw was this white, porcelain mask, with the rest of his body tangled in black robes that seemed to not have an end. He studied the simply look of the mask, just a white surface with slits for his eyes, and he couldn't stop thinking what he really looked like, why the mask was on his face in the first place, or who really was he?

He rested his forehead against the cold surface of the mirror, trying to remember anything... But he couldn't.

"Think" he kept saying himself, but the longer he simply stood there, the angrier he got at the situation. Soon enough he started beating his head against the cold stone in front of him, trying to think of anything, but only audible thuds filled the blanks. Then, when he decided to smash this infuriating mask to pieces, one thing came to him.

"Harry!" A woman's voice screamed his name somewhere from the past.

His eyes flew open, and for the first time he noticed the sparkling green eyes staring back at him from behind the mask. That single moment lasted until the white porcelain connected with the black stone, and a lightning shaped crack appeared on it, chipping the impeccably flat surface of the mirror at the same time.

He stood there, shocked as ,little by little, the stone crumbled, falling off from it's place, and he haven't noticed when that initial crack spread through the porcelain, and the mask broke and fell from his face.

When the last of the stones fell of, he was no longer standing in front of a window or a mirror. A clear exit way stood open in front of him, with sun once again shining upon his skin...

* * *

"Go away you idiots!" Dark Lord shouted as Death Eaters ran to his side.

In the instant that he spoke out the curse, it seemed that a magical flashback caused by his wand being so close to the boy, sent some of the energy back to him, sending him to the floor. But that was of no importance. The most important thing was that the boy was finally dead.

That train of though died in an instance when Dark Lord noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned only to see the boy still standing there, although it was impossible for his body to stand when he was dead, no matter how much instinct to fight he had in his bones.

Then happened something that made Voldemort feel something he though he wouldn't feel again.

Fear.

It wasn't because of the fact that the boy lifted his hands, watching them as he flexed his finger, which clearly indicated that the spell became undone and he could move again. It wasn't even because moments after he lowered his hands he turned his gaze to stare at the Dark Lord himself, with the intensity even greater than the one before.

It was because, for the first time in a really long time, Harry Potter smirked.

* * *

AN. One more chapter and this story will be finished.


	6. Chapter 6

J. K. Rowling finished her books a while ago, and since this story is reaching it's end now... Well, you see where I'm going with this, right?

* * *

Once upon a time, something drastic was done to an innocent man. When as a result of that he retaliated in the only way known to him, he was called a monster. But the most interesting part happened when that part had ended, giving way to something new, entirely.

Harry Potter was gone. More correct of a statement would be that there were no news of him. After months of corpses being brought in at a steady pace, it was like if he simply vanished from the face of the earth. But what was more interesting, was that all the shouts of hate were gone with him.

It wasn't even about Death Eaters, whom no one ever saw again. It was that without the bombshells falling, even as the smoke cleared, no one showed to point fingers or state who was responsible for all of this. All of the wizarding families simply stayed hidden at their homes, too scared of the thought of something else coming to take a peak.

Then, slowly, everything returned to normal. Shopkeepers once again sold their merchandise, with crowds once again filling once empty streets. And in time, even that pesky thought that there was someone out there to get them was pushed to the back of their minds.

Well, not quite so, as there were many times over those first few days, when a group of complete strangers, pointed their wands at the same dark alley, only to see a cat dart from it. Over the following years it became a norm, and everyone found solace in thought that, if a threat appeared, they wouldn't be the only ones to fight it immediately.

It seamed that wizards finally learned to deal with their problems as they came, since if they didn't, there was never a way to know who would end up being dead.

A certain bushy-haired know-it-all saw the beginning of it all, and throughout the years, she remained the only to tell the tale as it really went. Without diminishing faults on either side. And all of it because of a certain diary...

* * *

Hermione once again found her way to what earlier was Harry Potter's bed at Hogwarts.

It wasn't because of any kind of trouble that touched her personally. Truth be told, Hogwarts was a lot more quiet than it was before. With Harry taking out all of the leading hate-mongers in the school, and that kind of behaviour not occurring to them ever again, there was a definitely less conflicts appearing all around.

The rest of the school, not knowing how to behave in the face of those happenings, simply stayed quiet, with gossip-windmill dying a sudden death. In time, that appeared to be the new norm, with everyone trying to not step on anyone's toes.

Hermione herself had no problem with that. Especially since Ron started listening. At first he still had problems with his temper rising, but then he simply went on a walk... A really long walk. By the time he returned, he always had the thing that troubled him figured out, and could once again continue their conversation.

It also made Hermione to be more forgiving to mistakes. Something that constantly made her blush, since she haven't realised before just how far that particular habit of hers went. Throwing Luna Lovegood into the mix, with her slowly getting used to trusting other people, the new trio had more than enough of awkward moments.

That's why Hermione sometimes visited the asylum that she made for herself out of Harry's bed. It was no longer because of anguish. Now it was because she simply missed him. With Harry around, no matter how awkward or scary a situation was, he always did something, anything, to make things better. That kind of behaviour always came naturally to him...

That's why she regularly returned to his diary, reading page after page. But she no longer thought that it was him. Instead, she saw it as everything that he wasn't. All the things that were around him that he couldn't fix or make better. Everything that bothered him and wouldn't let him rest.

She just couldn't believe how much of it there was.

But this time, when she finally reached the last page, she stopped. She simply stared at the writing, not believing her eyes. She knew Harry's writing better than anyone. Probably better than he, himself. She went through all those scrawled loops so many times that she probably could forge it perfectly, if she only tried.

But when she opened the last page, she no longer saw the same writing. Oh, it was Harry alright. Even with what little she knew about handwriting analysis, she could instinctively tell that what she had in front of her was written by Harry's hand. But... the problem was that it was no longer _him_. At least not the boy that she knew.

She followed the ink, loop by loop, and she couldn't believe how sure each stroke looked like. It was no longer a writing of a shy, introvertic boy. It was now a writing of a strong man, sure of himself and the things that he stood for.

Getting past how the letters looked like, she finally got to reading what was written on the paper.

* * *

Last entry from the diary of Harry James Potter:

_Dear Hermione,_

_How are you? What interesting happened while I was away? Is Crookshanks still waking you up in the middle of the night?_

_Yeah... I honestly don't know what happened with times when those were the things that I honestly wanted to know. Those time that that was all that mattered... It seems like such a long time ago._

_I bet you have lots of questions, but before you burst, I really have to say I'm sorry, because I don't know anything myself. Even now, when I'm finally back, I don't know how my body still knows how to do all those things. My best guess is muscle memory._

_My magic is gone, that one is for sure. But instead, I'm faster than eye can see. I'm strong enough to not know what exactly I can't move, since I can't find anything large enough to check. And my body heals fast enough to make me thing that I may have became immortal... Don't ask me about that, you would have to feel what I feel to understand._

_But what truly is the most radical change, is how I perceive things around me._

_Hermione, I can __**feel**__ the world. I sense, in a way, everything that is. And you won't believe what a feeling it is just to walk by a couple in love. Happiness doesn't feel anything like excitement, elation, or anything that compares to feeling at the top of the world._

_Instead, it's a gentle breeze that kisses your cheek while you watch a beautiful sunset, at the end of the perfect day. Happiness is that moment of contentment that make you sigh since, even if you don't have all the things in the world, the things that you do have, are all that really matters..._

_But, like with everything, there's always the other side of the coin. Hate, anger, jealousy... That's actually why I'm writing you. When I'm near someone who's hate-filled, I simply can't stop myself from reacting. Of course, you will no longer hear of things of the kind that I did before. I really am shocked myself that I did that in the first place. Instead, look for all those myth-stories. You know, a Moth-man, Yeti, or anything else that a panicked human mind can come up with. If you will notice that that person no longer wish to do anything to cross any lines, that'll be me, saying hello._

_Obviously, other people will notice too. In time, they will have to. And when they do, they'll start talking. If they want to say I'm good, let them. If they will say that I'm bad, they probably have their reasons. But when they'll start making reasons to cover why I do what I do, that's when I need to you to tell them exactly this._

_For the first time in my life, I'm not doing anything, for anyone. Beside myself. I don't do it for anyone, and don't want to get anything out of it, beside a peace of mind. I want to stop hearing shouts of anger and threat, and all those hate filled voices... scrapping at my mind like large chunks of glass..._

_Tell them that, and watch their reactions, and you'll probably see what I saw. That world is divided into two kinds of people, and only two. There are people standing in their proper place. And there are people stepping on other man's face... But they aren't really people. They're more like babies stealing other's toys, not noticing that that's not sandbox they're playing in, but a litter-box that goes down the drain, while they persist on shouting what's theirs to take._

_I have enough of dealing with babies, don't you? Either they finally grow up, or they deserve to be treated as middles cattle._

_So, I would like to say that I'll see you around, but I don't really know where I'll end up. It's strange how fate works, but who am I to question it when it dumped a purpose and means to see it through right on top of me._

_Stay good, Hermione. And you should really get out of the castle more. With you spending so much time in my bed, people will start getting ideas..._

_Love_

_Harry_

_PS. I almost forgot. Tell Headmaster that I did my part. It's a bloody time that he finally started doing his. He'll know what I mean._

* * *

Ron finished the letter, and closed the diary. He finally got through it, reading it since the moment Hermione shared it with him. It was a strange read. Seeing his friend in this light.

But he wasn't concerned with Harry. No matter what came at him, he always managed to get out of it alive. Knowing that, Ron was more concerned about the person that was still around.

He turned to watch the girl that sat at the windowsill, staring outside of the window. He went to stand right behind her. Putting a comforting hand on her shoulder, he said:

"Don't worry," at his words, Hermione turned to stare at him quizzically, "He'll be alright," Ron finished.

It just made her smile a little as she replied: "I know,"

"Come on. It's almost time for dinner," Hermione said, jumping form her seat and going towards the portrait-hole, even as she stared back at him over her shoulder, with that peculiar smile still in place.

Ron stood there, gaping at her for a while. Finally, he moved... but he didn't go to the Great Hall. Instead, he went for one of his walks, thinking of the way she behaved. For the longest time, he couldn't get what made her so happy. Then, reading through Harry's last letter for what had to be the hundreth time, he finally caught on, and it only made him laugh.

It no longer mattered that there were so many questions unanswered. It wasn't even about the fact that Harry's life took an unexpected turn. The most important thing was that, after loosing his mind, becoming a villain instead of a hero, leaving everything he knew behind... Harry finally seemed to have found a place he was comfortable in.

* * *

AN. If you were expecting some kind of large battle with Harry displaying how awesome he was... Well, all I could think of would be somewhat anticlimatic. Like, he stepped right to the shocked group, and, while Voldemort was still on the ground, simply snapped his neck... then picked Death Eaters one by one or left them to hide in some hole and live the rest of their lives in fear.

Obviously, this could be continued, with Voldemort returning for revenge, Dumbledore struggling to _finally_ find the Horcruxes, and Harry somewhere in the middle... but at this time I think this thing is good enough as it is now. Maybe not perfect (especially that last scene), but good enough.

If anyone want to take it over, go ahead. Just send me a link so I can add it here, or even write me if you want to discuss ideas.

Also, since I've never been good at pointing to particular genres, I've created a poll to let you decide which two work best for this fic. If you happen to be visiting my profile, please, be so kind to take part.

With that done, I guess for now it's over and out.


End file.
